Shards of Sanity
by whirlwinds of watercolours
Summary: Little by little, Alice Longbottom loses her shards of sanity.


**Title: Shards of Sanity**

**Summary: Little by little, Alice Longbottom loses her shards of sanity.**

**Author: Memento Vivere**

**Rating: T for torture.**

**Word Count: 1153**

**Written for: The 'Stretch Your Limits' Competition: Hard; School Subjects Competition: DADA.**

**A/N: Thanks to _Emma Quinn _and _VenusinherHair _for beta-ing this! Please enjoy!**

* * *

Pain.

That was the only thing she was aware of as she squirmed under the Cruciatus Curse.

She was not aware of the drawn-out, ear-piercing screams; nor the answers Bellatrix Lestrange was demanding; nor the pleas and cries for help which escaped her lips over and over again.

Just the pain.

White-hot daggers were thrust into her body, tearing out every organ, every nerve, and every cell with their sharp blades, making her feel as though she had been tossed into a raging inferno, to be burnt to a charred, blackened crisp. Stars exploded in front of her eyes, impairing her vision; and her head felt like it was being hammered repeatedly with a heavy block of metal. Her chest was constricted; she could hardly breathe, but yet she still drew enough air for the screams.

Rolling on the ground in pain, she cried for it to stop, cried for her to black out – even death sounded appealing to her right now. She could not control any of her actions – her mind and body were two different, separate entities. And she did not want to think about anything at all; it was too painful for her addled brain to handle.

"Stop, please!" she cried, and distantly she heard a mad cackle of laughter, but she was not sure if it was real or just a figment of her imagination. She just wanted all of this to end, for them to leave her mutilated body alone and to die in peace.

It seemed that her wish was granted. After some time, the pain stopped abruptly, and her world was bliss. Seizing the chance, she basked in those painless, perfect moments.

But they did not last long.

"Where is the Dark Lord?" a high-pitched, girly voice snarled. Immediately, her tone brought a throb of pain behind her temple. Wincing, she opened her eyes slowly, afraid that the burning pain would come back. To her relief, it did not, so she found herself staring stupidly into the face of a beautiful woman with aristocratic, symmetrical features. But those pretty features were twisted into an ugly sneer, and she found herself growing scared of the woman.

_Who is she?_ A dreamy, far-away voice in her head asked, but she did not know the answer to that question, so she just kept on staring. She did not know the answer to the woman's question either. What was a 'Dark Lord'?

The woman tapped her feet, signalling time passing by. When she did not give any answers, the woman grew impatient, and that impatience turned to anger.

"Where is the Dark Lord, you filthy blood traitor?" she screamed, yanking her upright by her short hair. She stood up hurriedly, flinching and recoiling away from the woman, while that same dreamy voice in her head wondered how she ended up on the floor.

What was a 'blood traitor'? That was what the woman had called her. Was she a 'blood traitor'? Was that a bad thing?

Rising in an unsteady manner, she glanced around the room idly, and that was when she realised they were not alone. There were four other people in the room besides the angry woman, three of them hooded and masked, while the other one lay motionless on the ground. For some reason, she felt a surge of affection and a rush of panic for the man on the ground, but she did not know why. Who was the man on the floor, anyway?

She did not get to find out, because the woman raised a stick in her hand and pointed it at her, and the pain started all over again.

Her legs collapsed from under her, and she tumbled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Her eyes automatically shut again, and she gritted her teeth, hard, as her nails raked across the ground uselessly, seeking something to hold onto. She was determined not to scream aloud this time, because the woman seemed to take pleasure in her shrieks.

"Scream! Scream! Go on, scream!" the woman yelled at her, and the intensity of the pain seemed to increase, if that was even possible. Although she felt as though she was being mashed by a roller before being chopped into tiny pieces by a blunt axe, her jaw was still clenched tight; she did not want to give the cruel woman the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

Sweat beaded across her brow; the contents in her stomach were churning around as tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks. When it became too much she stuffed her fist inside her mouth and bit down hard. She knew she drew blood, because she felt that faint metallic tang swirling around in her mouth.

And then through the loud silence she heard noises. Noises of people coming in and voices talking. For some reason one of the voices seemed familiar, but she could not seem to remember who it belonged to. However, she did know that those voices meant safety, because the pain stopped again. And this time, it did not come back.

She was still wound up too tight for her jaw to unclench itself, so she merely lay there on the ground. One of the voices was getting louder, and she vaguely noted that it was calling, 'Alice, Alice!'. She did not know what that word meant either, but it seemed to ring a bell, though she was too tired to think where and when she had heard it before.

"Take them to St. Mungo's immediately," someone commanded, and she felt a pair of strong arms lift up her limp body. She relaxed herself, because for some reason she felt safe there. No harm would come to her anymore; the bad people were gone; and the words 'St Mungo's' gave her an illusion of warmth and comfort.

Like _home_, she thought drowsily. _Where was home? _She did not know, but it brought up images of a cosy and familiar room. She decided that she liked 'home'. Was 'St Mungo's' her home?

As the voices wrapped around her, she heard words like 'Frank', 'Neville', and 'Augusta'. She did not know what any of the words meant – she seemed to be ignorant of many things, some part of her brain mused – but the man lying on the floor came to mind, except this time he was awake, smiling and laughing happily. A picture of a small, grinning child with round and chubby cheeks also popped in her head, along with a vulture-like elderly lady wearing a small smile on her face. She did not know who they were either, but as she drifted off into unconsciousness she heard the small and distant voice in her mind saying something, and even though she did not know what those words meant, she knew the sentence was for those three special people.

_I will always love you_.


End file.
